It Was Everything
by RomanticizedRebel
Summary: In 2010, Ziva David, a hardened Mossad operative, is sent on a mission to rescue an American agent captured and tortured by Hamas. NCIS, Tiva, AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi, all. It's been a while, but I'm back with a new story. This one's finished.**

**Hope you like it! Comments, reviews, criticisms, and corrections are all welcome!**

**I do not own NCIS, nor any of the characters. That job is CBS's and Don Bellesario's.**

Ziva David walked through the halls of Mossad, the rubber heels of her dusty tan combat boots silent on the cool marble floors and large automatic gun swinging quietly at her side. As she crossed the large, bright glass lobby, she paid little attention to the bright white Tel Aviv skyline that was showcased through the clear glass wall. The sight used to stun her, forcing her to take a minute or two to appreciate the beauty as she walked through the Agency she called home, but in recent years it lost its luster as she went on more missions to unpleasant places to do increasingly terrible things at her Director's command. As she came to the tall steel double doors of her Director's office, the subordinate agents who had been dutifully flanking her came to a rest, dutifully waiting for her to return from her audience with her father.

Eli David didn't look up at the click of the soundproof door, continuing to work on whatever was spread over his desk. He, Ziva noted as she walked towards him, seemed calm and fresh. His white suit was impeccably tailored and without a single wrinkle and his crown of salt and pepper hair, abnormally full for a man his age, was neatly groomed, flowing uniformly. Neither his face nor neck shined with perspiration from the heat of an impossibly hot Israeli summer. Ziva felt self conscious- her black cotton shirt and cargos had sweat and dust stains on them and her thick braid had long since lost its uniform plaits. Remembering her purpose, she dug in the top pocket of her tan cargoes, retrieving a flash drive. "The information you requested." She slid the small metal device across his desk to him.

Eli didn't comment as he plugged the flash drive into the port on his top-of-the-line computer to to make sure the files he wanted were there. "Did you-" he began to ask.

"We crossed the Israeli border before the Palestinians even knew we were there."

He coughed out a chuckle before standing up to his full, rather intimidating, height and gently set his tortoise shell glasses down on his. At his motion she drew closer to him, accepting the light peck he placed on her forehead. "Your mission was a success. This was not an simple one- you should have time off-"

"But I will not." Ziva stated matter-of-factly as she pulled away. She was fairly sure that her father didn't believe in breaks. The people who followed her orders and showed her respect when they saw her in the halls thought they had to do so because of special treatment she received from her father; however, Ziva knew that she had worked just as hard if not harder than anyone else to get where she was. She couldn't remember the last time she had more than twenty-four hours off, and even then it had been because of a sprained ankle. Nudging those thoughts aside and reminding herself that she was a soldier, she turned her steady brown gaze on her father. "So what is my mission, Abba?"

Eli sighed and tapped her cheek. "When did you grow up so fast?" Ziva bit back her cutting response at the rhetorical question as her father handed a file on his desk to her. "We have located an agent, being held and interrogated at a terror camp. Hamas."

Ziva's eyes flashed at the mention of the organization that had been responsible for her sister's death. "What agent is it?"

"NCIS Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo- an American. He was on a mission prior to being captured in a raid of a village. He has been captive for an estimated three weeks."

Ziva picked up the dossier on DiNozzo and the camp and glanced over it quickly. "Why are we rescuing an American agent?"

Eli retook his throne and put his glasses back on. "They are our allies, Zivaleh."

"Yes, but we do not rescue allies," her voice rose with frustration, "We do not even rescue our own operatives unless they carry vital intelligence!"

"It helps build good will between the countries," Eli stated dismissively as he began working again, "and this is a personal favor to the NCIS director. I worked with him many years ago when you were a little girl. Besides, this is a small cell- if you eliminate them, it is killing two birds with one rock, as the Americans say."

Four hours later, Ziva found herself traveling towards the Gaza Strip in a black IDF helicopter with two other Mossad agents, Malachi Ben-Gideon and Adam Eschel. Both men had questioned the mission as well, for even more reasons than her. The Americans had been waging a war on the land surrounding Israel since 2001 when Al Qaeda terrorists waged a massive attack against them, crashing hijacked planes into their Pentagon, a field and most famously, the World Trade Centers, Admittedly, some Israelis did not exactly welcome the "War on Terror," considering that the Americans had only recognized the problem after a few thousand of their citizens died. Malachi and Adam felt the same way, but they were enthusiastic at the prospect of eliminating an entire Hamas cell.

The beat of the helicopter wings slowed slightly and Ziva could feel the black bird sink towards the earth. Quickly, she checked her Kevlar and slung her fully automatic gun over her shoulder before reminding Malachi and Adam of their mission. "We take the camp. No survivors, except for the American." They gave nods of confirmation, and she flung the door open, jumping the few remaining feet to the ground, breaking into a sprint as the aircraft pulled away.

The camp was very small, with only three Jeeps sitting out front one small concrete bunker-type building. Nothing indicated anything different from what their satellite photos showed, so they ran across the tan desert soil without hesitation, blistering sun beating down on their backs. The three extraordinarily well-trained agents took out the guards at the front with short bursts of fire as they ran and in a well-practiced motion circled the compound, ready to storm it from the three entry points. Ziva spoke into her walkie-talkie. "I will flush them out. One, two-"

She didn't say three as she kicked open the door. A poorly thrown knife immediately imbedded itself in her vest above her stomach, and she ripped it out before sending it right back into the throat of the man who had thrown it. Two more keffeyeh-clad terrorists came into the room with automatic guns, but she put rounds in their heads before they had taken their first shot. She passed into the second room where Adam joined her, and then took the third to see it cleared as well. The final room, where she presumed the agent was being held, was the only one without an outer entry point. She could see that it was a thick concrete bunker with a heavy wooden door, probably primitively soundproof. An interrogation room. She nodded to Adam, and he gently tried the handle. It wasn't locked. "One, two-" He pulled the door open.

One terrorist sat on one side of the room, calmly resting on the edge of a table with several types of metal instruments behind him, some soiled with blood. He smoked a cigarette and watched the happenings with a cool amusement.

The other terrorist was wearing brown robes soiled with splatters of blood and brandished a long brown bullwhip, which Ziva knew was an ineffective interrogation method. The victim was generally left so beaten they didn't have the strength to respond, and evidentially the man on the ground didn't seem like he would be answering any time soon. He wore only cargo pants, shirt probably discarded somewhere in favor of having better access to his skin, and his boots were tossed to corners of rooms. His feet were bruised and had sores on them, and bound at the ankles. _Crack. "Infidel!" _the terrorist screamed in Arabic with one lash. The man on the ground- hopefully DiNozzo- didn't make any discernable sound to respond besides a grunt when the whip curled around his waist.

Ziva's blood boiled. This was not an interrogation; there was no purpose here but sadistic pleasure as the terrorists slowly and brutally beat the man towards death. There was nothing but hatred. It was too much like the senseless violence that caused the death of Tali, and Ziva did not hesitate as she unholstered her pistol and put a round in both men's heads. She watched with only partial satisfaction as their bodies gracelessly hit the floor- the quick death was far too easy for them. "Check for anything helpful and then come help me with him," she quietly ordered. Malachi and Adam obeyed with a nod, and Ziva turned her attention on the man she hoped was DiNozzo.

Now that the combat was over, she had an opportunity to observe DiNozzo's injuries. He was very much alive, his breath coming in short, guttural gasps, but his pain was audible in those wheezes. His back was torn and bloody, with obviously fresh lash marks criscrossing around it, and bright red blood seeped from the wounds. The paler skin of his back was indistinguishable under angry purple bruises and dark gore that coated it. There were lines of blood on his neck as well, probably from a head wound of some sort. Ziva slowly made her way towards his side, loudening her step to make her presence known. "Agent DiNozzo?"

All of a sudden, the beaten man made a grab for the knife that had fallen from the belt of the terrorist whipping him and in an awkward roll onto his side brandished the weapon, apparently still ready to fight. Albeit, it would be weakly- the grip he had on the knife was loose at best, and his hand trembled with the effort. His green eyes found her, and though they struggled to focus the anger bleeding through them surprised Ziva. "Who are you? " he glared, his voice having a distinctive American accent.

Yes, definitely DiNozzo. She walked forward and plucked the knife out of his grasp, ignoring his noise of protest, before squatting down over his legs. As she began sawing at the thick ropes wrapped around his ankles, she accessed the somewhat underused English portion of her brain. "Hold still, and I will cut your feet."

The adrenalin that had fueled his brief moment of fight seemed to be creeping away, and his then empty hand flopped on the ground. "I really hope…" he huffed, out of breath from the exertion, "you mean… the ropes."

"Yes," she mused, "the ropes."

"So you're not here to… interrogate me?"

"No. I am a friend. Mossad."

"…Israeli?"

"Very good." She took the opportunity to quickly roll him onto his stomach. He did not resist her, easing his way to the ground with one arm. She took in the wounds on his back and cringed a little on his behalf- the whip had not only marred his skin; muscle was visible. "Once my partners arrive back, we will fly to Israel." She thought for a moment or two. "You do not have any spinal or neck injury, do you?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "I suppose NCIS Agents are not taught to recognize their own injuries?"

"How do you know who I am?"

"Mossad." she stated simply as Malachi and Adam returned to the room. "We need to take him to a doctor."

"I am afraid that is not an option;" Adam stated gravely, his English matching hers. "There is a dust storm a few miles from here. The helicopter cannot land until it clears."


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again! I am in the middle of exams, but because the story is finished updates should be daily. Enjoy the second part- reviews are much appreciated, as well as comments, suggestions, predictions, and criticisms. I am revising as I post, so I can use them.**

**NCIS and its respective characters belong to CBS and Don Bellesario.**

Ziva stared at Adam for a moment, processing this new information, and then pushed up from her squatting position. With one final assessing glance to the mess of DiNozzo's back she turned to her two fellow Mossad. "Are the doors and windows shut?"

"Yes." Malachi gestured to the now-bloody clothing the two terrorists wore. "We can use the Hamas' clothing to stuff the cracks."

"Good. Medical kit?" Adam handed her the black plastic case with a red cross emblazoned on the front. She pulled out a sterile paper blanket and quickly made a makeshift hospital bed, dragging the table one terrorist had been resting on to the center of the room and draping the sheet over it. "We'll move him first." In a group effort, the three Israelis gathered around DiNozzo. Malachi took his arms, Adam slid his hands under DiNozzo's torso, and Ziva grabbed his legs. She took a deep breath. "On my count. One, two…" Without a three, they lifted him, trying to keep jarring to a minimum as they moved him over the table. DiNozzo, in turn, took it noiselessly. "Careful;" Ziva warned as they lowered him onto the table.

Not heeding her warning, Adam let him drop too soon and Tony's midsection landed on the table with a soft _thwump. _DiNozzo let out a strangled grunt of pain, and Ziva shot her teammate a hard glare as she rested her burden's legs. However, he seemed unrepentant, and she sighed. "Go stuff the walls, and then sleep. I will tend to him." She glanced at the bright red slashes circling his back, and added one last thought in Hebrew. _"Shut the door. It might be… loud."_

Adam and Malachi left without another word, and Ziva quickly set her backpack and weapons down beside her before turning her attention to the medical kit. The wounds on DiNozzo's back were numerous, painful, and bloody, but not deep enough to require stitches. She would just clean and bandage them. She shuffled through the supplies, searching for what she needed. "You've done this before?" DiNozzo surprised her with a question, voice soft and gravelly.

Ziva glanced up from where she was knelt over the kit. "Tended to wounds, yes, though not your specific kind," she responded absently as she neatly laid all of her materials on the table. Hand sanitizer, water, antiseptic, salve, heat packs, blanket. "How is your pain tolerance?" she inquired as she rubbed hand sanitizer over her hands and arms.

"… High," She sighed, and he popped one long-lashed green eye open to regard her curiously. "What?"

"That means that it will take longer for you to pass out."

"…Oh," he said, pondering this for a moment. "DiNozzos don't pass out."

Ziva cocked an eyebrow. "And whose rule is that?"

"Mine. My father's."

"As… noble… as that is, it will not serve you well here." She pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and watched his hands creep to the edge of the table, fingers ready to grip it when the need arose. She felt like she wanted to do the same, seeing the ugly deformity of his injury, but quickly reminded herself that she was not the injured one in the situation. She uncapped the water bottle and gently squirted it over his back, trying to carry some of the excess blood and dirt away from his wounds. DiNozzo's grip on the table tightened to where his knuckles were white and his eyes were squeezed tightly shut. _If he reacts this much to simple water, how bad will it be with disinfectant?_ "I thought your pain tolerance was high?"

"It is… Unfortunately …" he ground out, his voice having a squeaky quality to it, "my adrenaline level… isn't, anymore." She thought for a moment, water bottle poised mid-drizzle. It had been adrenaline that fueled his defense with the knife, and it had probably masked the pain while it coursed through his veins. However, as more time passed it would leave his bloodstream. Recalling some of the firsthand accounts she had heard about the pain caused by whip wounds, she resolved to get the worst over with quickly and finished emptying the water over his back. Allowing her training to take over, she reached for the disinfectant and began pouring the bottle over his back.

A noise that wasn't quite human tore from his throat. He writhed and tried and push himself up, as if to escape from the pain, but collapsed back down as his strength failed him. His back arched away from the table as his forehead pressed into it and his hands gripped the edge. Strangled grunts mixed with muffled cries escaped him, along with a foriegn mixture of muffled syllables that tumbled from his lips. Ziva was confused until she realized that it was Italian. "Dio, fallo smettere, ti prego, fallo smettre." "_God, make it stop, please, make it stop." _

Despite the training and experiences she had, she couldn't help but shudder at the agony in his words. His suffering was tangible as his body shook uncontrollably and his muscles strained against the alcohol's fire. She had seen others in this kind of pain before, many times when she was the one inflicting it. However, unlike those she interrogated, he had done nothing wrong except be captured on a mission for his country. He did not deserve this, and she could not be cold. Quickly, she tossed the antiseptic aside and grabbed the salve, smoothing it over the wounds as quickly and gently as possible and fighting back repulsion as she felt his skin move freely under her hand. He seemed to have gotten a slightly better grip on the pain, but still held the edges of the table, anchoring himself down while she worked. He only let out a groan when she accidentally nudged a bit of muscle. Finally, the worst finished, she gently slid a thermal blanket over his abused body. The gauze could wait, and the air would help his wounds to dry and heal quicker. She prayed the numbing effects of the salve would kick in quickly.

Despite the treatment being finished, Tony continued trembling. Ziva searched the room until she located a chair and dragged it to sit in at the side of the table. Seeing that he was bruising his mostly uninjured hands with the grip he was still maintaining on the edge of the table, she gently pried his fingers loose and took his hand between hers, slowly tracing the blue veins in his hand with the tip of her thumbnail in a calming motion. As time passed, the salve began to work, his body stopped trembling, and he relaxed.

Finally, the NCIS agent spoke, his voice hoarse and exhausted. "Name?"

He caught her a bitt off guard, and she glanced up from his hand to see his eyes open, blinking lazily at her. She fixated on them for a moment, entranced by the almost unnaturally vibrant grey-green color. Then, she remembered that he had asked a question. "What?"

"You never told me your name."

"Oh," she muttered, a little embarrassed, "Ziva- Ziva David."

"Bond," he murmered in a faux British accent, "James Bond."

"What?"

"Just the way you introduced yourself…" She gave him a look of confusion, and he sighed. "Movie. Forget it."

"It is a book as well."

DiNozzo chuckled softly, the sound a low and pleasant rumble. "That it is." With a sigh, his eyes slid shut again, and a few more minutes passed before his breath evened out to a slow, even rate. Once she saw that he was asleep, Ziva gently released his hand and slid his arm around so that it cradled his head on the table. Another point in her limited medical training coming back to her as she got a look at the blood on his neck, she reached a hand out to run over his scalp to check for head injuries. There weren't any serious ones, but she couldn't help but note how matted his hair was- it definitely hadn't seen soap or water since he had been taken captive, unless one counted waterboarding. _Which she did not._

She pulled out her canteen and a towel from her backpack, telling herself that it was for his health. With a bit of water onto her hands, she gently began running her fingers through his hair to free up the worst of the dirt and grime. She was startled when he let out a noise akin to... _purring... _but a quick finger on his pulse told her that he was still asleep, and she continued. His hair was fine and yielded the offending substances easily, and after only a few repeats of the process, his hair was shining with some semblance of clean. She ran the towel over it, not really worrying about waking him up- he was visibly exhausted, even in sleep. It made sense, given the torture he sustained, and at this point probably wouldn't wake for the end of the earth. She his dry hair one last pat with the towel and ran her fingers through them to confirm that they were clean, They were soft, and against her better judgement, she did it again.

She didn't know how long she had been sitting there, caressing his hair when she heard the door open behind her. She jumped up and whirled around to se Malachi stepping into the room behind her. "_Is he asleep_?" he asked almost inaudibly in Hebrew.

Ziva instantly composed herself and shot a glance at Tony. His breathing was still even. "_Yes, I believe so,_" she responded quietly.

"_Good. It is nighttime- you should sleep as well."_

Ziva glanced around, but the windowless room gave no indication as to the time of day. _"It is that late already?"_

Malachi chuckled and nodded, strolling towards her and the table silently. _"I do not envy him. Whipping is… painful, to say the least." _She turned to him, brown eyes and asking the question she did not dare voice. He smiled, a little weakly, and nodded. _"Yes, that particular device has been used on me. I was impressed that he wasn't screaming, given the state that he was in."_

"_I did not see your scars when we-"_

"_It was later." _He shook his head and gave her a meaningful look. _"Only Liat has seen them."_

Ziva smirked at him, _"So you two finally got together. There were wagers throughout Mossad as to when that would actually happen."_

"_The mission I went on with Michael…" _he drifted off with a concerned look to Ziva, and the Mossad Agent felt a stab of pain run through her. She had dated Michael Rivikin for months, sometimes wondered if she was in love with him. However, he and Malachi were assigned a mission to Somalia. It turned out to be, essentially, a suicide mission, and both men were captured and tortured. Michael was killed. Malachi, by some miracle, escaped after a few months and made contact with Mossad for extraction. _"When I got back, I was not completely… sound of mind. Liat took care of me. I had been blind- not to see what was right in front of me." _

He looked to Ziva to see her reaction, seemingly a little afraid, but she offered him a close-lipped smile that didn't betray her slight sadness at both his suffering and seeing that those around her had found happiness where she was seemingly unable. "_I am happy for you, Malachi. You are good together."_

He nodded at her graciously. _"I believe so as well." _He glanced at Tony and frowned. _"He has endured much, with even less training on how to deal with this. For his sake, I hope he has loved ones at home."_ Ziva glanced at her patient, Malachi's words bringing into focus what had been troubling her in the back of her mind. DiNozzo seemed surprised that she was Mossad, but not at all that it was her rather than his own people coming to rescue him. He had not asked about his family and even though the pain may have distracted him it still did not seem right. Did he have no wife, siblings or parents looking for him, but only his Director? She tried to tell herself that it was because this American seemed to be so vulnerable and unattuned to the hardships of the Middle East that she felt the need to sit at his side, not the sense of loneliness that reminded her of herself_._

Malachi watched the thoughts war in her eyes and seeming to understand, nodded_. "I will wake you when morning breaks." _He shot one last look at DiNozzo and cracked a smile. "And a good night to you, Agent DiNozzo."

Ziva whirled around to face DiNozzo as Malachi walked out the door. "You were awake?"

"Not the whole time," he drawled sleepily, "No worries; I may be a man of… many talents, but speaking Hebrew's not among them."

"Ah," she said, the side of her lip quirking up playfully. "If not Hebrew, then what might those other talents be, Agent DiNozzo?"

"Tony."

"Tony?"

"Call me Tony," he confirmed.

"Your name is Anthony- meaning priceless, if I am not mistaken."

"My father's Anthony."

That explained the lack of questions about his parents- something in the way he differentiated the two names told her that the two men had their differences. "Ah, so you are Tony to distinguish yourself?"

"Something like that," he mumbled. "Tony suits me better- translates roughly to two parts of a leg."

Her brow furrowed for a moment while she translated, and when she realized what he meant cracked a smile at the terrible pun. "Fair enough… Toe-Knee." It rolled off of the tongue well enough. "So I am interested to hear about those other talents of yours?"

"Well," he said, a lazy smile crossing his face while his eyes were still closed, "You may not want to hear about them… Many are best suited to the bedroom."

"Oh... well, in that case," she gave him a smirk in return, even though he could not see it with his eyes shut, "maybe you should start with those."

She and Tony talked for a while, an odd occurrence for her. She was by no means a chatty person, but the NCIS Agent was charming and funny; intriguing as well, and deliberately discrete about his family and background beyond his work life. Being a woman of secrets, that did not bother Ziva, however, she could not deny her curiosity.

After a while, he could no longer keep his eyes open. She hummed a Hebrew melody while he drifted back to sleep. Once she saw his breathing become slow and regular, she switched off the bright lantern hanging above them and fell asleep mere centimeters away from her charge, her head cradled in her arms next to him on the table.

**Just a note: I, as always, am un-beta-ed, so all mistakes are mine. I prefer to work this way, and go through my work with a fine-tooth comb before and after posting. If you find grammatical mistakes, P/M me.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi, guys. Sorry this one is up so much later at night- I'm in high school, and pre-exam week is insanity. I worked my butt off to be able to post this one tonight, and, alas, success.**

**Un-beta-d. All mistakes are my own. Reviews, comments, predictions, critique all welcome.**

**I do not own NCIS nor any of its characters. Don Bellesario and CBS in the hiz-house!**

**Sorry for that. Enjoy.**

"Ziva_,"_ A voice cut through her blissfully black sleep-world. "Ziva! A foreign pressure landed on her shoulder. Training kicking in, she jumped up, fully awake, whipped out her gun and aimed it with deadly accuracy at the head of whomever it was who dared to disturb her. "_Easy_!" Malachi said in Hebrew, hands up in the air. "_If I had known you would react this violently to being woken, I would have thrown something_!"

"_And I would have killed you anyway_," she growled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she reset the safety on her pistol and holstered it back onto her ankle. "_What time is it?"_

"_Almost six."_

"_Harah! You let me sleep in!"_ She quickly checked herself for drool and straightened out her clothes. Then, she turned to Tony and gingerly placed a hand on his arm, unsure if she had stirred him with her fight-response to Malachi. "Tony?"

It was apparent that she had not, as at a rather impressive speed for someone who had been tortured for a few weeks he was off the coffee table in a combative reaction not so different from the one Ziva had just exhibited. His hands clenched in fists in preparation to fight whoever was a threat, and his eyes searched his environment for a weapon. Then, as his gaze locked on Ziva, recollection dawned in his eyes and he relaxed. "Good. So it wasn't a dream." He reflexively began to stretch but halted almost immediately as the pain from his back made itself know. "We're leaving?" he asked hopefully in a slightly strangled tone, trying unsuccessfully to hide his wince.

"Yes. Our transport is already inbound," Malachi answered with a look of sympathy.

Tony nodded. "Good." Gingerly retaking his seat on the table, he frowned at his half-naked torso. He was never one to be shy about his body, but this was ridiculous. Luckily for him, a tan object sailed over Ziva's head into his lap with startling accuracy, neatly unrolling into a baby-soft button-down bush shirt. He gave his donor a sincere grin. "Thanks…"

"Malachi."

"Malachi," he parroted. "I'll pay you back once we're out of here."

"No need," Malachi shook his head. "I have been where you are, and a stranger once showed me the same kindness." He tossed a thick pair of socks to Ziva. "He will need these as well…" Ziva studied the bemused expression on the NCIS Agent's face, wondering how long it had been since he was shown compassion like that. Apparently it had been a while, given the disbelief on his face.

She reached up and illuminated the lantern as Malachi left the room. "We need to dress your back." She picked the gauze up from where she had rested it on the table the night before and stopped shortly, seeing the front of Tony's torso for the first time in full light. Scattered cuts and blue and violet marks painted it, few yellowing with a few weeks worth of healing while most were fresh and angry. A purplish-black bruise flowered intensely around his left shoulder. "Do you have more injuries?"

"Just bruises and superficial stuff. I set a dislocation, but it's not a problem now."

She appreciated his resilience and offered him a half-smile before winding around his back to redress his wounds and place the gauze pads. He was impressively still, only flinching when she slicked the clear gel across particularly deep gashes. She followed the salve with numerous gauze pads and then a long bandage, wrapped around his torso. "I feel like Mulan;" he grumbled as she wound the stretchy fabric around his upper abdomen. She raised an eyebrow curiously in response. "Y'know, badass Disney princess who joined the Chinese army to bring honor to her family; wrapped cloth around her…" he trailed off midway, gesturing at his chest. "Never mind."

"I do not know Disney, but I do know of Hua Mulan- She was a real person. A Chinese poem was written about her- _The Ballad of Mulan_."

"_Mulan has no elder brother. I want to buy a saddle and horse, and serve in the army in Father's place_," he surprised her with a direct quote from the poem. At the bewildered look she gave him, he gave a stiff shrug. "Read it before I saw the move. After, it kind of stuck…" He gave her a strange look in return. "You've honestly never heard of Disney? Do they not have it in Israel?"

"They may, but I have never paid much attention to the media." With that note, he began a lengthy description of several movies with increasingly ridiculous plots: A mermaid who wanted to be human, a girl who became a princess after putting on a glass shoe, and a rather bizarre story about bestiality. According to Tony, it was romantic... _American culture is strange_. Normally she would have found that kind of mindless babble irritating, but in his case it was… endearing. The passion with which he described movies was almost childlike.

After she finished dressing his back, she helped Tony slip into the bush shirt Malachi gave him. As her fingers travelled up the front of the shirt, she suddenly found herself within very close proximity to Tony's face. It was her first opportunity to get a decent look at him, having been preoccupied with treating him the previous night… Despite his injury, with a shiner, bruised nose and partially split lip, his features were handsome in a distinctly All-American way. His tan skin and dark hair spoke of his Italian heritage, but his light eyes obviously came from elsewhere. His mother, maybe? Given her son, Ziva was sure she was a beautiful woman. As she gazed at his eyes, the small, but present lines around those green orbs crinkled. "See something you like?"

She had been staring. She gave herself a mental kick whilst attempting a quick recovery with a distant smile. "In your sleep, DiNozzo."

He seemed confused for a moment, and then the smile spread to his lips, displaying very white teeth. "Do you mean dreams?"

"What?"

"In your dreams. The phrase is 'in your dreams.'"

"Oh, yes. That is what I meant."" How she hated American idioms- the whole language was overflowing with them, even in basic communication. Why could they not simply say what they meant? She stepped back to both distance herself from him and inspect her handiwork. "I think you are ready to go, except for your shoes." She retrieved the boots from where they had been tossed into corners of the room and went to help him put them on, but as she did so, something caught her attention.

"Are my feet really that interesting, Zee-Vah?" His lips were curled into a smirk with the over pronunciation of her name. Realizing that she had been staring again, she tried to break her focus. However, her attention kept creeping back to his feet.

"What is wrong with them?" She bent down to get a closer look at his seriously misshapen pinkie toe and extraordinarily knobby knuckles. "You have the feet of a… monkey."

"Born that way," he chuckled, wiggling his long toes "I don't wear sandals often."

"With good reason," she commented as she slid on the socks and boots, thankful for that flaw in his good looks. After she finished lacing his second boot, Tony slowly pushed himself to his feet, wobbling slightly as he did so. "Are you alright?" Ziva asked concernedly, alarmed at his unstable swaying.

"Yeah. Been a couple days since I stood," he shrugged, and slowly began making his way to the door. At the portal, he stopped, glancing around the room that was now empty except for the two of them, having been divested of the bodies some time the previous night by Malachi and Adam. Ziva knew what he saw: a room of horrors. Himself- bound, gagged, water boarded, flogged, drugged, just plain beaten, and whatever other uncreative tortures the terrorists thought up. His own screams haunting the air. His blood staining to floor. Pain, desperation, total separation from any who cared, and hope lost.

Quickly, to prevent him from lingering too long, she grabbed her backpack and gun and walked to where he was, giving an extraordinarily gentle squeeze to his shoulder. "We should leave, yes?"

Tony blew out a long breath, his gaze still locked on the concrete chamber. "Yeah. That would be good." Not needing to be told a second time, he stepped out into the next room.

Ziva followed him out into the compound and slipped around her charge, giving a nod of greeting to Adam. "How was your night?"

"_Suprisingly restful_," Adam said in Hebrew with a condescending glance to Tony, "_the soundproof door must be very well built_."

Tony's brow furrowed, correctly reading the implications of the tone and body language as some sort of insult to him. Seeing the offense in his eyes, Ziva, for reasons she did not want to justify to herself, found herself at his defense. "Actually, he was quite quiet," she snapped back, purposefully using Tony's language.

"Really?" Adam raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "In my experience, the average American cannot handle any pain without causing a…" he searched for the correct English word, "commotion."

"Guess I'm not your average American, then," Tony quipped back cheerfully, a falsely charming smile on his face. Ziva opened her mouth to continue, but he met her eyes in a silent request not to continue the squabble. "When do we get going?"

"We eat, then we leave," Ziva said. "Are you hungry?"

Tony seemed to consider this for a moment. "Meals have been kind of sporadic… Guess I'm accustomed to it."

Adam snickered at this, and Ziva shot him a glare. "_You two, go check on the helicopter's whereabouts_ _and make sure the landing area is clear,_" she commanded, giving a meaningful look to Malachi. _Make it take a while._

Adam looked like he was about to protest, but Malachi gave the pressure point in his arm a subtle squeeze in a seemingly benign gesture. "_Let us go_."

Once the two were out the door, Ziva pulled two miniature boxes of cereal out of her backpack and handed one to her charge. "Eat slowly, or you will throw up."

Tony seemed to take this to heart as the two sat to eat their respective breakfasts. He was painstaking in his consumption, slowly working his way through about a quarter of the small carton before handing it back to Ziva. "That's all I can do," he said, tone self-conscious.

She nodded, trying not to make not of it as she slid the box back into the pocket of her bag to save the contents for later. "It is something in your stomach, at least."

Just then, Malachi and Adam jogged back into the compound, Ziva turned to them, not expecting to hear anything other than that they could leave, however, Malachi's expression told her that all was not well. "Is there a problem?"

"We have company, approximately five minutes out. The helicopter is 18 minutes away."


	4. Chapter 4

_Sorry for the wait on this one, guys. I had exams and got crazy-busy. I hadn't even gone Christmas shopping until today. I worked hard on this chapter, and while I'm not totally satisfied I think it's decent. If you see any mistakes, let me know. Merry Christmas!_

_Reviews are greatly appreciated. Comments, suggestions, critiques, praises all welcome here!_

_I do not own NCIS nor any of the characters. All hail CBS and Donald P. Bellesario._

Ziva was only stull for a beat before snapping into action, pulling on her desert-colored Kevlar vest as she dealt out instructions. "_You two, take the north side; I will take the South_," she told Malachi and Adam in rapid-fire Hebrew. "You, stay in there," she indicated the interrogation cell to Tony with a jerk of her head as she slid rounds of ammunition into her weapon, "and wait for one of us to come and get you."

Tony gave a glance to Malachi, who only shrugged as he and Adam calmly prepared for battle. Deciding to take matters into his own hands, the NCIS agent walked over to the table where many of the terrorists' personal effects were laid out. Along with clothing, food, and individual belongings there were an assortment of disassembled semi-automatic and automatic weapons. He ran his hand along the black barrel of w one gun that gleamed innocuously at him. "I'll fight." When he saw that the three Mossad had ceased their actions to regard him, he spoke again, firmer this time. "I _will _help. I'm not sitting idly by while you risk your lives."

Ziva looked like she was about to argue, but Adam beat her to it. "What do you know of combat? You cops have handguns, not artillery."

At a speed that would've made his boss proud, Tony assembled the weapon and shouldered it, ignoring the pain in his back and ribs. "I may be a cop, but I'm also a NCIS agent;" he said, releasing it and allowing it to hang at his side by the strap. "I'm proficient with all types of firearms, both hands. I've been in Baghdad."

Ziva gazed at him skeptically. "You are injured, Tony."

Tony gave a thought to it, but he firmly stowed the 'pain'-registering portion of his brain in the recesses of his mind, refocusing all his attention focused on his new purpose: staying alive. "Laying around while you hold down the fort won't be any easier."

She seemed to consider his answer for a moment, and he prepared the next portion of his argument. "Fine. Do as I say, and keep out of the way," she surprised him by acquiescing.

Malachi, who seemed to have been waiting for this, tossed Tony a desert-camo vest with a white Star of David embroidered over the heart. "Welcome to Mossad." Adam snorted.

Ziva gave him one last reluctant look, but refocused on her objective, turning to head out the door and into the blistering desert. Tony grabbed a considerable quantity of ammo and began loading it into his gun as he followed her outside. The two agents walked to the other side of the concrete compound and stopped in position, Tony restlessly shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet while Ziva was almost statue-like, the picture of calm. Tony could have sworn she was a sculpture by some Greek master, her hard face sculpted from granite and her the rest of her body was as still as stone while her eyes scanned their surroundings. The statue's lips moved, and shaking himself from his fixation, he realized he did not hear what she said. "What?" he asked.

"How good is your vision?"

"Oh," he paused, taking a moment to tear his thoughts from their tangent on Aphrodite, "20/10."

"Impressive." No more words were spoken as Tony followed her example and silently scanned the barren terrain in front of him. The quiet was only broken intermittently by Ziva's radio communications with Malachi and Adam.

The Mossad Agent had just had her latest "all clear" communication with her two fellow Israelis when Tony spotted a small, isolated wall of dust being thrown up in the distance as some sort of vehicle travelled towards them. "Ziva! Over there!"

She was at his side in an instant, barking commands to Malachi and Adam over her black plastic radio. "Probable hostile, coming from the southwest end. Get over here."

"_We are busy here, Ziva. Company is arriving from the northwest as well." _Ziva let out a fervent string of Hebrew curses.

Tony nudged her with his shoulder in some show of support. "We got this,"

Though the odds were not in their favor, she gave him nod, deciding to adopt his confident "American spirit." She took aim at the right of the two desert Jeeps that were becoming visible as they got closer to them. "Left driver," she ordered. Tony complied, aiming for the windshield of the vehicle on the left. "Hold." They both waited for the cars to get closer. Once they were within roughly a football field away, Ziva gave the command. "Go."

With that, they both let out a short blast of fire. Ziva's bullets hit their mark as the Jeep veered wildly, throwing up a huge wall of dust. Tony's made contact as well, but the Jeep continued towards them and stopped. The driver did not get out, but three passengers jumped out, guns pointed and giving off blasts of fire. Tony and Ziva took cover on either side of the house, returning fire and picking off two of the men. One terrorist crept closer, miraculously managing to avoid the hail of fire, however, once he was close enough, Ziva ripped her long knife from her waist and lunged for the his throat. Bright red blood spewed as she pushed it in and violently twisted his neck, throwing a little extra effort into it for Tali. She glanced to Tony, expecting him to be repulsed or at least shocked at her bloodthirsty actions, but he just muttered, "Nice," and crouched behind the door of the Jeep in preparation for the other terrorists. He was focused and not surprised by a show of brutality in a fight- Complementing her perfectly

The other Hamas were easy enough to pick off as they came running towards them, shooting off fire, and they took them out from the relative safety of their position behind the car door. Once they were all dead, they headed towards the other side of the house in order to provide assistance to Malachi and Adam.

The two other Mossad agents hadn't been as fortunate- the vehicle coming towards them was armored and managed to get within a thirty-yard radius. Subsequently, the two Mossad Agents were currently locked in a close-quartered fight, smoke from their weapons and the smell of sulfur tinting the air. Malachi and Adam were shooting acurratley, unfortunately, the armored vehicle were providing adequate cover to the seemingly well trained terrorists. The Mossad agents' bullets were only scraping the metal exoskeleton of the vehicles while bits of the concrete wall they were taking cover behind slowly crumbled. With each of fire, they had to back up to maintain coverage. "Ziva!" Malachi said as Tony and Ziva came up behind him, "How long until help arrives?"

Ziva glanced at her watch. "Two minutes until air assistance. Hold them off until then!" With a two-minute survival goal in mind, the four agents shot off well-placed rounds at their , the beating of helicopter wings filled the air, and then the distinctive sound of missiles being fired off in an airstrike. "Incoming!" Adam shouted. In an instant, Ziva realized that while Malachi and Adam would had their reflexes to shield themselves from the blast, Tony, in all likelihood, did not. She leapt for him, tackling both of their bodies to the ground as several explosions sounded.

After what could have been anywhere from a minute to an hour, large particles stopped falling and Ziva blinked the black spots out of her vision and saw Malachi and Adam reorienting themselves as they slowly stood up, seemingly, for the most part, fine. She inferred the same for herself with a quick wiggle to her appendages. Suddenly, loud coughing underneath her alerted her to the fact that Tony was still underneath her. Her gaze focused directly underneath her on his face that was scrunched up in pain as the gasps tore from his throat. "Tony? Are you alright?"

"Ribs-" he squeaked.

It dawned on her that she delivered a massive shock to his bruised ribs in tackling him and was currently putting much of her weight on them, and his back probably was not feeling too well, either. She cursed softly as she lifted herself off of him and crouched next to him. He continued gasping in pain. "Breathe, Tony," she encouraged, taking his hand in hers without a second thought. He accepted it readily, locking her fingers between his and almost crushing them as he tried to get the pain from his ribs under control.

"-Ha- you –right?" he managed to say between gritted teeth.

Ziva couldn't figure out what he had asked. "What?"

"You..." _cough, gasp for air, "_alright_?" _

Ziva could not help but shake her head as she gave his long fingers a small squeeze. He was so oblivious to his own injury. "Yes, I am fine, Tony. You, on the other hand…"

"M'fine," he managed, finally getting the pain under control and slowly pushing himself to a seated position, "help me up?"

Malachi, who had come to Ziva's side, held a hand out to Tony. Tony accepted the proffered limb and was carefully pulled to his feet, only to have his knees, to his surprise and embarrassment, give way. He would've hit the ground hard had Malachi not had a grip on his hand and used a maneuver that was probably some form of martial arts to anchor Tony's arm around his neck and take most of his weight. "That, my friend," Malachi chuckled empathetically, "is the adrenalin leaving your blood. You probably are not feeling too well now." Tony had to concur, as every ache and pain he had ignored for the past hour or two made itself known and they, at a slow pace given that Tony's bastard body had turned traitor, progressed towards the helicopter.

Despite the agony that was clouding his senses, Tony had to admit that the bright white Star of David, emblazoned on the side of the black aircraft, had never been more beautiful to him. The aircraft itself was not a typical chopper but rather a military transport helicopter with a considerable amount of space inside and four rows of seats facing forward. Despite Tony's protests, Malachi laid him out on his stomach in the first row of seats, proclaiming that he needed rest. Though Tony would not admit it, it was apparent that the Mossad agent was right, as his eyes, despite his brief struggle, slid closed.

As Ziva stepped into the aircraft, the pilot, an IDF soldier, glanced over his shoulder at her. "_How was the mission_?" he questioned in Hebrew

"_A success_," Ziva responded brusquely as she latched the door shut behind her and stripped off her vest, wincing at the bruising from the explosion. She glanced at Tony, whose tall stature was draped across several seats. Though he looked to be either asleep or unconscious, lines of pain were still etched around his mouth and eyes and his body was as stiff as a plank. The seat dipped only slightly as she sat next to him and gently shigted his head onto her lap. Remembering what had soothed him the previous night, she trailed her fingernails gently across his scalp, mindful of gashes present, and settled in for the long ride home.

A few hours into the flight, bleary emerald eyes blinked open. At the sight of the dark cabin, they sharpened instantly and a look of panic similar to the one he wore earlier that morning sparked in his eyes; however as they found and locked on her brown ones, the expression changed to one of… trust.

She felt a tug at her heart, an organ, that, for all intents and purposes, she believed to have died with Tali. Nobody had looked at her with such an expression of confidence in a long time She had an assassin, a weapon, and helper of nobody for what seemed to be forever. Yet, in less than a day, she had become a protector. She was not just a bringer of death, but a guardian, and the light in Tony's fierce and wounded green eyes was what she needed to guard. Fortune dealt him a cruel hand, and he did not belong in her war-torn world. Though he had a warrior spirit, one she had witnessed earlier, her instincts told her that he was gentle. Kind. Everything she was not. Those traits could not exist for too long in a place like this, but she would do everything in her power to protect them.

She would not allow the light in his eyes to be put out like Tali's was.


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry it's late- vacation. However, it's longer, so a little bit of a trade-off.**

**I don't own NCIS or the characters.**

**Reviews appreciated.**

The beating of the helicopter's wings slowed as the aircraft began arcing down towards the earth. "Tony?" Ziva lightly tapped the side of Tony's face, trying to wake him gently before they landed, "We are landing." He blinked into consciousness and tried to roll over, but grunted at the pain in his back. "Here, like this," she helped him slide to the edge of the seat and maneuver onto his side so no pressure would be put on his wounds. "Are you alright?" she asked.

He ran a hand through mussed brown hair and blinked the sleep out of his eyes. "M' fine." She could read the words for what they were. _I've been better. _She gave him a nod before turning around. "Malachi! Adam! _Hit'orer_!" Both Adam and Malachi tried to jump up, but were held back by their harnesses and knocked the wind out of themselves. Adam searched for the source of the rude awakening, and once his eyes found Ziva's, they narrowed in suspicion. She gave him a confirming smirk. "We are landing."

"_You could not have woken us less… forcefully?" _Adam grumbled in Hebrew.

"_Be glad I did not throw something," _she retorted. Adam rolled his eyes in return as he straightened his clothes. Malachi just shook his head.

"I don't know what you said, but I'm pretty sure you just owned him," Tony commented, and she coughed a little chuckle.

"I like to think so."

Four minutes later, the blades of the helicopter touched down. Ziva, eager to get out of the dark and claustrophobic aircraft, was first to hop out. She took a moment to appreciate the sight before her: Concrete, bleached to a pearly color by the ever-present desert sun, and the tendrils of light stretching towards her through the bright white buildings of Tel Aviv. A faint smell of olives from the trees that were in season and salt from the ocean hung the air. She turned to Tony, who had gotten out and was looking around at their surroundings as he tried to take it all in. The city was an oasis in the desert for both of them, but for Tony she was sure it was sweeter: It promised freedom.

Just then, two black Cadillac SUVs pulled onto the tarmac and out stepped Amit Hadar and Liat Tuvia. Both Mossad officers were fresh in appearance, donning typical Mossad bush shirts, with Hadar in linen pants and Liat was in cargos. Her fellow female Mossad, Ziva noted, seemed to have put extra effort into her appearance. Her light brown hair fell in gentle curls around her face, and her hazel eyes were lined so that they stood out more than the rest of her features. She appeared… softer, and the smile that tugged at her lips at the sight of Malachi confirmed what Ziva suspected: Liat was very much in love with Malachi.

"_You are a lucky man, Malachi,_" Hadar laughed genially in Hebrew as he and Liat casually strolled towards them, "_Most partners would not fight tooth and nail to be able to come pick you up." _He shook Malachi and Adam's hand and then turned to Ziva. "_It has been too long."_

"_And whose fault is that?_"she retorted.

"_Ah, Ziva," _he chuckled, _"still full of fire. Your father does not listen to me; you know that. Let us be friends; now that you are finally home for a while." _

She did not comment on the fact that a while meant at most a day or two, rather turning to Tony. "Tony, these are Mossad Officers Amit Hadar and Liat Tuvia."

"A pleasure. I am eager to learn more about you," Hadar said in lightly accented English, shaking Tony's hand firmly. He nodded towards the SUVS. "We can get to know each other better at Headquarters."

"_He needs medical attention_," Ziva interceded, growling at Hadar in Hebrew.

However, her father's loyal lapdog simply shrugged. "_Did you administer first aid at the camp_?'

"Yes, but-"

"_Are his injuries life-threatening_?" he cut in.

"No, however-"

"_Good_," he stated dismissively with a wave of his hand, "_he will be fine. Should any issue arise we can have a doctor at Mossad assess him_." He turned back to Tony, casually switching back to English. "Director David is very eager to make your acquaintance.

"David?" Tony questioned quietly as they strode towards the SUVS.

"A common Israeli name," Ziva stated, not as much conviction as she needed in her tone, and the look he gave her told her he did not entirely believe her.

Once they arrived at Mossad, a little over an hour later, Ziva was ordered to her little-used office by Hadar to debrief on her mission. Much to her anger, another agent guided Tony in the opposite direction. She owed Malachi- even as he was ordered to his own office, she saw him murmur to Liat and send her with Tony. She did not know the younger female terribly well, but she trusted Malachi's judgment in most things. She quickly debriefed in her office with a seasoned analyst who wanted to finish just as badly as she did and then hit her speed dial for Malachi. "Where is he?"

"_Just a moment." _The sound of an irritating Hebrew pop song marked a brief hold where Malachi presumably called Liat before he came back over the line. _"Second sublevel level conference. Room 4."_ She was already running before she flipped the phone shut, her boots making loud thuds as she tore through the agency to the stairwell, not caring who saw or heard. It was all she could do to prevent herself from utilizing hard-won skills by hopping over the side railings of each flight in order to get to her protectee faster.

Liat nodded at her from the entry to the hall of the second sublevel and pressed her fingers to her lips in an universal gesture: _Do not tell them that I brought you here. _Ziva gave her a nearly imperceptible nod before throwing the door to the observation room open. "Why is he being interrogated?" Ziva hissed at Hadar as she stormed in and saw Tony shifting uncomfortably in the metal chair beyond the one-way mirror. "He has done nothing wrong!"

"Innocuous men may be the most guilty," Hadar stated philosophically.

"What has he done?" She shoved him against a wall, keeping him in place with her own body. "No crime has been committed! No Israeli has been harmed!"

"We have a duty to fulfill, regardless of his innocence or not. Danger comes from all sources, you know that!"

"The Americans are our _allies_!"

"Do those ties subjugate your loyalty to our country?"

She twisted a nerve painfully in his shoulder. "You know what I have given up. You do _not _have the liberty of questioning where my allegiances lie!"

He winced and flinched back towards the wall, but gritted his teeth. "If he is cooperative, it will be easy for him." He nodded in the direction of where Tony sat.

She gave him one more push, noting with a bit of satisfaction how he bounced off the wall. "I know my father, as you do. You know that is not necessarily true."

On the other side of the glass, Eli David entered the room, stride communicating suaveness and power. "Agent DiNozzo," He stated suavely as he rounded around Tony's back, "My sincere apologies for your wait."

"Nah, it's cool," Tony grumbled, "I dig hanging out in concrete bunkers; especially after eight hour chopper rides… and a few weeks of torture."

Eli responded only with his cool gaze. "Your sarcasm is noted."

"So's your shirt," Tony quipped back, catching those on both sides of the glass a little off guard. "What's that? Zegna?"

"I am not sure how my apparel applies to your visit."

"I don't really consider this a visit," Tony quipped back.

A smirk played on Eli's lips for a moment at the American Agent's sarcasm, even after what he had endured over the past few weeks. "I have leaned much of you, from various dossiers and the reputation you have made for yourself. Your ability to 'bounce back,' as your American saying goes, is impressive. I am sure that you can employ that particular skill here."

"Usually I get a shower in between bounces."

Eli ignored him, digging into his file. "Your record at NCIS and as a cop isimpressive."

Tony was unimpressed by the smooth talking and cocked a cynical eyebrow. "I'm flattered, Sir, but with all due respect I'm pretty sure that it's not the reason I'm here being interrogated."

"Interrogated?" Eli scoffed, "No, my friend, this is a meeting room. A place for mutual discussion. You have yet to see one of our interrogation rooms."

"Point taken. Can we discuss why I'm here and not on a flight back to the U.S.?"

Eli slid an official-looking fax towards Tony. The seal of the Secretary of the Navy was at the top of one, and on the other, the CIA. "The Secretary of the Navy and Director have deemed the best course of action be I learn what transpired before you return to the United States. The CIA has given us permission as well, as what happened was on our turf, as the saying goes."

"Not sure why the Spooks wouldn't want to do it…" Tony glanced over the documents and recognized the Secretary's signature. They were legit. He sighed. "But orders are orders. Where should I start?"

"As with most good stories," Eli drawled, "the beginning."

_Tony woke in the bullpen on a dreary- what was it? Morning? Night?- It was winter, was dark from 7 p.m. to 7 a.m. in D.C. There was really no telling. He blinked a few times, trying to clear the gunk from his eyes. Somewhere in his sleep-fogged mind, he registered that he had not woken naturally, but rather by the shrill, persistent trilling of a… Phone. Office phone. The thing on his desk that he was supposed to answer. Where was it located again? Blindly, he groped for it until he came in contact with the plastic handle "Yeah? 'Nozzo speakin'"_

"_Eloquent, as always, DiNozzo," a voice came over the phone. Tony had to take a minute to place it as well as inch closer towards full consciousness. Then, he realized whose Ivy-league tinted tone it was and growled. "C. . Nice of you to call at…" He searched fruitlessly for any indication of the time and shrugged, forgetting that Ray could not see the gesture._

_"4 a.m," Ray Cruz filled in._

_Tony let out a low expletive. "I could've gotten at least another hour of sleep."_

_"Consider this an early wake-up call," Ray shot back, as smooth as ever._

"_How'd you even know I was here?"_

"_Cameras." _

_Tony shot a glare at the security camera roughly fifty feet away, red light winking cheekily at him. "I don't care if you're a Spook, that's still freaking creepy."_

"_If it's any consolation, I'm not a voyeur. I only access the feed when I need to know something, in this case, whether you were at NCIS."_

"_Still weird as hell," he scrubbed a hand across his eyes, "What do you want?"_

"_You know, if you hadn't turned down all our offers you could get called during normal business hours… And you wouldn't have to deal with the new director," Ray paused for effect, "Change in leadership must be tough."_

_Tony knew precisely what Ray was getting at, and growled. "I got the point. I fucked up- you don't have to beat around the bush all day."  
_

"_Ah… A bush," Ray drawled philosophically. "Set fire to it, and it's suddenly biblical. Speaking of biblical things… How do you feel about redemption?"_

"_I take it this isn't the kind you go to mass for..."_

"_Try the middle east."  
_

"Who else was aware of your mission before you left?"

"I was ordered to inform Vance about my assignment."

_Seeing that Cynthia wasn't in, Tony knocked on the Vance's door, unsure if he was there. "Come in," his voice sounded. The Director's presence at such an ungodly hour was little surprise- he was eager to settle in further as the newly appointed head honcho. Tony quietly allowed himself in. Seeing him, Vance cocked an eyebrow. "So you woke up… I was wondering if you'd go home or stay."_

"_Neither," Tony stated as he made himself comfortable on one of the office chairs._

_"So what brings you up here at this hour, Agent DiNozzo?"_

_Tony slid the piece of paper Cruz had faxed him across the desk- an official CIA order, with a 'Need To Know' classification and the presidential seal right alongside that of the Central Intelligence Agency. He watched Vance's expression as he read over it, eyebrows arching to the top of his forehead and toothpick being chewed far more rapidly. After a few moments, the Director looked up at him. "A Black Op?" he stated, inflecting it like a question, as if the answer wasn't obvious._

_Tony just sighed and gave the Director an impassive look. "You know that just as well as I do."_

_Vance studied him, and Tony could feel the man's dark, bloodshot eyes running over him and analyzing him. Then, coming to a consensus on whatever examination he was performing, Vance shook his head disbelievingly. "You're not the fool you play."_

"_No, I'm not, sir," Tony agreed, "but I am a damn good actor."_

"_That makes sense, given your mission," Vance agreed as he stood up and shook Tony's hand in a cool, callousless grip, "Best of luck." New respect for Tony shone in his eyes, and Tony had a sense that the man had a more shadowy past than he let on. The agent returned the shake before heading out into the bullpen. He sat at his desk and jotted a quick note to Gibbs and then one to McGee and Abby. _

_**Gibbs,**_

_**Mission, I can't say more. Don't blame Vance. Just in case, thanks for everything.**_

_**Tony**_

_**Probie/Abbs,**_

_**I'll be gone for a bit. Don't worry. Abby, be sure to tease McGeek for me. Probie, watch Gibb's six. **_

_**I'm going to be back before you know it.**_

_**Tony**_

_He was not satisfied with the notes, but given the need-to-know circumstances surrounding it all, he could not say more. He sighed before slinging his pack over his shoulders and heading out the doors._

"Sometimes, this job forces us to hurt the ones we love, " Eli commented, shooting a glance through the glass towards where Ziva stood. "I take it that you have done work like this before?"

"Classified," Tony stated. "I can't share unless you have another order."

Eli nodded, "Of course. Loyalty and discretion… admirable traits, both, in an agent." He pulled a remote out of his pocket and pressed a button, and the screen behind Tony flickered on. "Though, given what you accomplished you are a truly excellent agent. I would like to know how you managed to accomplish this journey, undetected by any local agency."

Tony twisted in his seat to watch a red line on the screen snake across a

topographical map of the Middle East, illustrating his path. _Entry into Saudi Arabia, up to Kuwait and movement up through Iraq, staying near to the Tigris River until he reached Baghdad. Then, fast movement across the country towards Jordan, and passing through major cities at a slowed rate. A star, as he passed into Israel, and the halt altogether at the Gaza strip._

As the animation finished, Tony turned back to Eli, expression impassive. "Looks like you knew I was there."

"Regretfully, this map was created only after your Director informed me you were here and missing. One of my agents found your cover in Bahrain."

"In basketball, before I blew out my knee, I was referred to as 'scrappy,'" Tony mused, "I guess you could say the same for my style as an operative."

"I doubt you could accomplish this being 'scrappy,' as you say," Eli was nonplussed, "How did you manage this?"

"It wasn't easy, but I'm good undercover," Tony trailed… "Keffeyehs and contact lenses played supporting roles."

_The sand blew in Tony's face. He let out a low string of curses and tried to bling the grit out of his eyes, but it was no use- the fine silt that had gotten on his brown contact lens would remain until when he slept, when he could douse them in liquid. Discretely, he removed them before quickly covering with a pair of sunglasses, hoping that nobody would question the fact that he was wearing them twilight. Suddenly, his camel came to a halt and he squinted through his now night like range of vision to see the leader of the caravan he was riding in poised at the front of their small group of eleven or twelve and checking his compass against his map to ensure that they were going in the correct way. Then, he glanced up at the emerging stars above him, wondering what his team was doing at that moment- Gibbs was probably having his fifth cup of coffee. _

_The leader barked a command in Arabic, looking back towards him, and Tony turned his head, careful to keep his keffeyeh and hood over most of his face. He understood a little of what the leader said. Right way. He pulled a pack of energy chew out of his pack as his camel started onwards again._

"How long did you travel in a caravan?"

"Only to Kuwait."

"Then how did you manage to pass through Iraq?"

"I had some help…"

_His breath came in short, hard gasps as he sprinted into a night-cloaked village into the shadows of one particularly tall building. Using feeble light of the glow-in-the-dark feature of his watch, he glanced over the information from Trent Kort he had transcribed over his hand earlier that day. To someone from a distance, the thick black ink appeared to be some sort of tattoo, but if anyone got close enough they could see that it was actually Italian script, telling Tony where to go in order to meet the Australian Defense Force military convoy that would patrol through the area at precisely 02:00. If all went well, he would hitch a ride with the Aussies into Bahrain, saving himself time and danger._

_The sound of the convoy became audible, faint at first but quickly growing louder. Riling up his very best acting skills Tony fired a shot off into the dark desert, hoping it wouldn't hit anything, and ran out with a faux panic on his face. "Help!" he cried in his best damsel in distress tone._

"_Whoa, whoa! On the ground, now!" A voice with a distinctive Sydney drawl screamed at him. Two men jumped out of the vehicle, fully automatic weapons pointed_

_He complied, dropping to his knees. "I'm not the enemy! I'm an American! CIA! Help!"_

"_So," the rather relaxed Aussie named Dave asked Tony a few minutes later as they bumped along in the military convoy. "What the fuck are you doing out here, mate?"_

"_This is a war zone, y'know?" His friend, Raymond, added cheerily from the passenger's seat. "Its a great way to die."_

"_Don't I know it," Tony chuckled affably. "I was running an intelligence op just a few miles north of here. Posing as a UN humanitarian worker while sniffing around for flowing white robes, y'know? Unfortunatley, one local had a contact in the UN who blew my cover."_

"_You Spooks are fucking crazy. D'ja get pinappled with this one or somethin'?"_

_Tony was not entirely sure what being pineappled was, but he understood the sentiment. "Nah."_

"_Than what cluster's idea was it?"_

"_Mine," Tony lied, as the convoy bumped along further through the desert roads. _

"Ah, the Australians," Eli smirked. "An amusing crowd, to say the least. So the CIA was providing you with information and allowing you to pass as one of them?"

"-While I did their nasty work. It was a symbiotic relationship."

"_So you're not dead yet, then," Kort's crisp British accent drawled over the satellite phone. _

_Tony seriously preferred the Australians, he thought, but scoffed anyway. "Couple of close calls there."_

"_I would be surprised that you survived, but unfortunately I know you too well." Kort grumbled. "Any lead on Grenoullie associates?"_

"_Yeah. I just killed one of them."_

"_What? What was his name?"_

"_Azab Akhbar." _

_There was a silence over the phone, and then a harsh scoff that may have passed for a laugh. "No fucking way." The sound of liquor being poured scratched over the phone, and Tony grinned. "DiNozzo, if you make it out of this alive I owe you a drink."_

Eli nodded, suitably impressed. "Akhbar eluded us for years. How did you make it the rest of the way?"

"Making my way into Jordan was pretty easy," Tony stated, "You know parts of the borders are barely guarded. Hitchhiking through to Israel was a piece of cake. You know the rest." He gave the map one final glance, and then his expression became deadly serious. "As refreshing as the conversation is, I'd like to know why I'm here," Tony stated, "and I'd also like to know precisely why you rescued me. My death wouldn't have been a loss to the CIA, and no matter how buddy-buddy you are with Vance I seriously doubt you would as a favor to the NCIS director. As impressive as the story is, I can't see what of this information would be the least bit helpful to you."

"You are right," Eli agreed, "It is not." He pushed up from the table, pulling a glossy photograph out of the bottom of the file and dropping it in front of Tony, before taking the seat adjacent to his. "This is."

Tony's expression went from cocky relaxation to blank shock in a second, but he schooled it again quickly. "I have no idea why she matters in any of this. She hasn't had anything to do with any of this."

"Except for the fact that you had contact with her while within Israeli borders. Flight records prove it." Tony and Eli had a stare down for a moment, and Eli continued. "I am well aware of your past with her."

Tony's expression remained impassive save a slight twitch of the lips. "Yeah? Who isn't, by this point?"

"Besides the fact that this mission was based around information from a previous one of yours involving her? She was the reason you accepted this mission, was it not?"

"I'm not going to talk about her. It isn't relevant."

"But it is." Eli pushed the two official documents from the U.S. across the table. "Read them, and be very aware that you have orders. To not comply would be both treason to your country and grounds for Israel to interrogate you as a foreign operative. Those accused of espionage are not treated kindly." Tony's face paled considerably as he inferred exactly what Eli meant. More torture- something he definitely did not want to endure, but he would do what he had to. Then, Eli threw in the final kicker. "We are also highly capable of hunting her down. She can be classified as a suspect in transgressions against The State of Israel, and as I am sure you are aware law concerning suspects is not nearly as… gentle here as it is in the United States. By willingly speaking to me, you protect both yourself and her."

Tony dropped his head to his hands, and sucked in a breath. "This wasn't supposed to happen." He stood and paced a quick circle around the room before throwing a punch at the concrete wall, only opening his hand at the last second to avoid breaking his knuckles. "Damn it!" he cursed "I went completely off grid, even to the CIA! How the fuck did you find out?"

Eli shook his head and leaned back in his chair, satisfied that he had discovered exactly how to break Anthony DiNozzo- not by torture, but by threatening those he loved. "Agent DiNozzo, did you really believe you could hide a thing like this from two of the most powerful intelligence agencies in the world?" he mocked.

Tony finally sat back down, posture slumped in the chair, "I almost did."

"Tell me: How did you come to meet up with her?"

_He had sent the email off of a burn phone as he crossed through Bahrain: _

_**For answers, meet at pier café in Jappa, Israel. December 2, 2 o'clock.**_

_He hadn't honestly known whether he would be alive to fufill that meeting, and if so whether he would be on time. However, against odds he had made it and now, sitting in the pleasant seaside cafe he could only hope that she would show up._

_He sat at the window, relishing the fact that he wasn't currently in a life-or-death situation and instead enjoying the peaceful squawking of various birds and sounds of the Israeli tongue. Hebrew was an interesting sounding language, though not one he had the faintest idea of how to speak. There was some Arabic spoken as well, which he was fairly proficient in at this point. Normally, he would be listening in on other's conversations, amusing himself by figuring out who they were, but his heart was pounding too hard in his ears for him to focus he watched the street._

_A bus pulled up and then, suddenly, there she was. She glanced right and then left before crossing the street in a manner that exhibited past experience and ease in the Eastern Hemisphere. She was every bit as beautiful as he remembered, skin deeply tanned from time spent near the equator and set off by the white linen pants she was wearing. Her brown hair was longer than he remembered and fell in soft curls over the top of her fitted violet tank top. Her eyes were concealed from the Israeli sun by black old-Hollywood sunglasses. Cautiously, she stepped into the restaurant and pulled off the sunglasses. He straightened his tan bush shirt and jeans and sidled behind her as she immersed herself into the crowd of the front of the café. Steeling his nerves, he spoke. "How's the falafel?"_

_She whirled around to face him, mouth dropping open into a perfect 'O' shape. Her crystal blue eyes were wide with disbelief. "What-"_

"_Not here," he cut her off, and gently tugged on her arm in a motion to follow him towards the table. A waitress buzzed by, and he gestured to the two of them. "Ithnaan zugagat maa'." Thankfully, the waitress understood Arabic and nodded, heading back for the kitchen to get their waters. He turned his attention to Jeanne, who was still regarding him with a look of wonder. They stared off until the waitress returned and set the waters down in front of him. "Shukkra." He pushed one towards Jeanne. "Drink up. It's hot." He took a long swig of his, giving her an opportunity to collect herself._

"_So… you sent me the note?" she finally managed, voice weak. He nodded, and her eyes narrowed, old anger returning. "Am I about to get a confession or something?"_

_He sighed. He had just spent too long in a battle to survive to deal with this shit. "No. I told you then, and I'll tell you now. I didn't do it. Everything else, yeah, but that wasn't me." He paused, taking a moment to reign himself in. "Nice to see you too, anyhow, Miss Benoit."_


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry for the wait. A nasty bout with the flu slowed me down, but now I have a few days off of school (snow days) in order to get back on track. This chapter is not a favorite of mine, but it is necessary for the story to move forward and has some good parts in it. My apologies if it's a little slow…**

**Un-beta-d, just the way I like it. PM me for mistakes. Reviews are much appreciated.**

Ziva David was not surprised in the least that her father had motives besides diplomacy in rescuing DiNozzo. She was not naive- she had not been since the day Tali died- and knew that her father, invariably, wanted far more than he claimed. It seemed to her, now, that whatever piece of information it was that Eli actually desired; something that had to do a mysterious photograph, was information Tony was not willing to give up, and oddly enough, she had a feeling Tony might actually be successful against her father. Despite what he had endured, Tony hadn't been defeated when her team first found him- He had not broken, nor confessed anything to Hamas. She vividly recalled the way he rolled onto his back; prepared to fight her with whatever little physical strength he still possessed- an startlingly angry defiance had blazed in his eyes. Now, being interrogated by Eli over a mysterious photograph, Tony did not bend at the threat of more torture or being declared a spy and treasoner.

Ziva, on the other hand, was not so calm and turned to Hadar. "He is not a spy! No transgressions against the state of Israel have been committed- If anything, he _helped _us!"

Hadar verbally disagreed with her. "He is an foreign agent, running operations on our lands. It does not matter whether or not he was working to our benefit."

They turned back to continue watching Tony, who still seemed unfazed by the threats. The lengths he seemed willing to go for whatever the subject of the photo was surprised Ziva- Tony struck her as the kind to have loyalty to his country over all things. Why did he want to protect whoever was in the photograph so badly?

It was not until Eli threatened to find and interrogate the person in the photograph that Tony's relaxed, confident demeanor shifted. He seemed to weigh his options for a moment, and then, looking beaten, began talking. Like the other information he had given Eli it was told in a story-like way, intense in imagery and dramaticism. For some reason, Ziva had a sense that he would have been an excellent actor had he not been a federal agent. She could understand the story, how Tony had felt, what he had seen. However, she did not understand whom he was speaking of, so she turned to Hadar. "Who is he talking about?"

"Dr. Jeanne Benoit, only child of deceased international arms dealer Renee Benoit, or La Grenouille, and heiress to all of his estates. Benoit was never convicted- It was hard to link anything to him. He operated more like a businessman than an arms dealer. CIA Agent Trent Kort assassinated him while he was in Washington D.C."

"The CIA assassinated someone on U.S. soil?"

"It was sanctioned," Hadar answered. He didn't seem convinced.

Ziva, though curious, decided to let it go for more pressing matters. "Why the interest in his daughter?"

"Another operation was run by NCIS- Special Agent DiNozzo was sent undercover to try and get close, romantically, to Dr. Benoit. The hope was that she would introduce him to her father. It was likely that the mission would fail, but DiNozzo succeeded beyond expectations, and ended up in a limousine with Benoit just a few hours before he died."

I still do not understand why we are interested in the girl now."

"After DiNozzo _broke her heart_," he made air quotes with his fingers around the idiom, "She moved to Africa and began humanitarian work, offering medical services where they were needed in war-torn regions. However, in recent months she had been moving away from those regions towards areas where known associates of her father operated. There is international concern that she now may be trying to pick up the business where her father left off."

"She is a doctor, yes? It does not fit her profile. She has chosen a profession that revolves around helping others, and has no knowledge of the arms world."

"I agree. She also has discovered that much of her life has been a lie. My suspicion is that, for whatever reason, she is trying to retrace her father's steps to find out who he actually was. What she is unknowingly doing, however, is contacting men who are international threats."

"Was DiNozzo aware of this? Why did he instigate a meeting with her rather than have her brought in? Was he unaware of what was going on?"

"I think he understood the situation, and was trying to prevent an interrogation from occurring."

"Why? What would he gain?"

"He fell in love with her."

"And…" Eli was pressing Tony on the other side of the glass, "After you warned her, did she tell you anything? Names? Addresses? Numbers?"

"Name, and number, singular." Tony confirmed quietly, "She's totally naïve to this world. Only managed get into contact with one associate of her father's- The guy was a distributor out of Egypt. Civilized. Located in Port Said."

"And what did you do with this information?"

"Exactly what I was supposed to do," Tony turned blazing eyes on Eli, "reported it to my handler."

"_She said he was the only person she had met with," Tony growled into the phone, glaring out at the serene ocean landscape in front of him as if it had offended him. "The deal was you don't send anyone after her. Let her live in peace."_

_"I'm wondering if the Biblical history-filled areas around you are affecting you, DiNozzo," Kort drawled sarcastically through Tony's burn phone, "Live in peace?"_

"_That was the deal."_

"_And I shall honor it, just for you," Kort took on the tone of a resigned parent. "I'm arranging transport for you into Port Said-"_

"_Wait, what?" Tony interjected, half incredulous and half horrified. "How long will this mission be, Kort?"_

"_Until the job's done. I want you to feel Hassaum out, establish contact. See what kind of operation he's running."_

_"Are you crazy? A planned hit in a bar is one thing, but this is meeting an unknown blind with no backup. We know next to nothing, Trent, and my witness isn't even that credible."_

"_And that's precisely where you come in, ArabianNight," Kort purposely annoyed him by using his code name, "To gather intelligence. Establish contact, pose as a potential customer, and feel him out. I'll send an asset up from Cairo with an ID and cash."_

_Tony sighed, acquiescing to his fate. He had obey orders, whether he liked them or not. "When did I become a CIA foot soldier?"_

_"When you agreed for the mission. If it's any consolation, you're still technically NCIS." There was a pause. "You know, if you had taken either of the Agency's offers, you would likely have been the one running these things."_

"_I'm happy at NCIS."_

"_Then why did you take this mission?"_

_Tony didn't answer, switching gears. "My apartment, Kort. I have two packages sitting inside my piano. If anything happens, give one to the team and one to my father."_

_"How do I know which goes to who?"_

"_The one that goes to my father is a bottle of McCallen 18." Kort laughed and hung up without a response. _

_Tony snapped the burn phone shut in turn and walked out the door of his seaside motel room to see the turquoise ocean, tauntingly winking at him in the sun. The beach on laid out before it was empty in the red and purple-stained early morning. He walked out across the night-cooled sand to the water's edge and gazed out across it, irrationally wishing that the body of water was one that connected him back to the United States. Unfortunately, if what he had learned his 4__th__ grade geography class was serving him correctly, he was currently facing Greece. _

_He snapped the burn phone in half and threw the pieces as far as he could._

"And did you establish contact?"

"You know I did."

"_This is fucking crazy," he sighed to himself two hours later as he slid around the perimeter of the bar, searching for Hassaum. He had easily established contact a few hours ago, paying a call from a public phone as his cover of an English ex-military up-and-coming arms dealer who was looking for connections to pedal his "goods" to. Though it felt ludicrous to him, the Intel he had gathered and been given told him that Hassaum was small-time enough that he would not have the resources to look deep into his cover. Tony ran a hand through his dyed-black hair and blinked a few times to make sure his brown contacts were in place. Then, he straightened his cargos and bush shirt. Getting into character was easy, but would it be enough?_

_He spotted Hassaum sitting in the corner, clad in traditional clothing and seemingly alone- his appearance was checking out with what he had learned. Hope that he might actually make it out of this alive refreshed, he slowly made his way towards Hassaum._

"_Hello," Tony said in Arabic tinted by a British accent as he extended his hand, "I am Charles Blight."_

_Hassaum shook it and gestured to the table. "Amir Hassaum. Please, sit."_

"I am curious, Agent DiNozzo, as to how you were captured?"

"Unfortunately, Hassaum's men were more suspicious than the other hostiles I encoutered, as well as better endowed with reasources. My alias was British, but it turned out they're just as fond of British men as they are American."

"Who were they?"

"I think you know. Hamas."

_Hassaum took a long swig of his drink, showing no emotion Tony as Tony- in character, of course- finished explaining who he was, and what he wanted._

"_So you are a military man, looking to make connections in the Middle East," Hassaum surmised, brown eyes studying Tony intensely._

"_Yes, sir." Tony answered with a blinding smile. _

_Hassaum nodded noncommittally. "Tell me, Mr. Blight, why would you make deals with those you considered terrorists? The ones you fought against and killed?"_

"_I believe in making your own fortune, and the soil here is fertile."_

"_Mr. Blight," Hassaum said, pushing himself back from the table and drink with a look of disgust, "I do not make deals with those of your kind. You are the men whom I despise."_

_He made a motion with his hand, and from the shadows of the bar, traditionally dressed men emerged, weapons visible. Tony tried to make a break for it, but was grabbed by two particularly massive figures. "The only dealing I will have with you will involve your death, and you will find that my brothers here, the men of Hamas, feel much the same way."_

"I tried to fight, but there were too many…" Tony reflected. "I was bound, gagged, and knocked out. You know the rest."

"Yes, I do, Agent DiNozzo," Eli stated. "I am well aware of all of your exploits: You passed up through the middle east, managing to evade destruction from those that love to see Americans killed, killed a terrorist, lied to Australian authorities, passed Israeli customs with false documentation, and then attempted to hide your meeting with an international point of interest from both your own country and the country you were inside. Is that correct?"

"I believe so."

Eli's demeanor changed suddenly, shifting from casual conversation to one that screamed authority and superiority. "Then can we agree, Agent DiNozzo, that this does not set a good precedent? Is it good policy if Israel permits you, a foreign operative to traipse around on our soil in a manner such as this without repercussions?"

"I suppose not." The hairs on the back of Tony's neck were standing at attention.

"Yet, our country is also grateful to you. It would be hypocritical to imprison or kill you, as you have done Israel a great service in eliminating Akhbar- He was responsible for many Israeli deaths. Do you understand our conundrum?"

"I've got the picture."

Eli made a sort of graceful, regal sweep of his right hand towards the one-way glass, and all of a sudden, the lights in the room dimmed. The red light on the security camera in the corner flashed off. Tony briefly wondered if he was about to be killed. "In the spirit of diplomacy, I believe we can reach a compromise," Eli announced quietly in the semi-darkness. Somehow, his voice was still penetrating. He pulled another sheet of paper out of the folder and slid it in front of Tony. "A mission, to cleanse you of your mistransgressions. You are Catholic, yes?"

"I was confirmed."

"Then this is atonement, penance."

"I haven't sinned."

Eli let out a laugh. "You would make good Mossad. Agreeing to this mission, you can help ensure the safety of this Benoit girl-"

"-Jeanne," he interrupted crossly, "her name is Jeanne."

"-You can help ensure Jeanne Benoit's safety."

Tony sighed, shrugging his stiff shoulders in an attempt to loosen them and cracking his neck from side to side. "Okay. What do I have to do?"

Fifteen minutes later, having been briefed, Tony walked out into the hallway. Ziva emerged from the observation area at the same time, and he offered a smile as they walked. Somehow, he couldn't make it as bright as it normally was. He had really been looking forward to going home, to being able to see his friends, but fate seemed determined to put as many obstacles in the way of that as possible. This mission, he supposed, was the next one: While it was not going to take long, it was dangerous and difficult. However, he had spent his past few months doing nothing _but _dangerous and difficult. At least this task came with modern amenities.

"What did he say?" Ziva demanded. He mutely handed her the orders Eli gave him, and she scanned the documents with a frown. She had made a promise, an Aliyah, to keep Tony safe. This was not helping matters in the least.

"So," he said, cheer he did not feel in his tone, "are we hopping in a Mossad helicopter to bust in?"

"If we were doing that, we would only take Mossad agents," she stated neutrally, and he ignored the sting in his ego. " We are trying to be undetected, and this is a civilized area: We drive."

Mossad did not have the formalities NCIS did when it came to missions; not by a long shot. Apparently, agents could just _go, _without having to cut through massive amounts of bureaucratic red tape. Tony wondered whether or not that was a good thing as he eased into the passenger's side of the matte black Jeep, wincing at the particularly persistent burning in his ribs and protest of the cuts on his back.

Watching him do so, Ziva blinked. Earlier, he had so successfully masked his discomfort when with her father that she had forgotten he was injured until now, as all his movements conveyed pain- an excellent testament, she thought, to his undercover skills. If he could fool her like that, this mission would be easy. _Unless_, she thought, _he is in too much agony to be able to work_. "Do you need painkillers?"

He shook his head fervently. "No. Me and painkillers do_ not _mix_."_

"How?" she questioned, curiosity and concern intermingling. "Are you allergic?"

"Not exactly."

"Then what is it?"

"I get a little…" he twirled a finger near to his temple, and she gave him a blank look. He sighed. "Israeli. Right. Different hand gestures. I get loopy." Her blank stare did not change, and he waved his hand exasperatedly. "How do I explain this? They make me a little crazy."

"Oh…" she nodded. "I understand. Do you become psychotic?"

He muttered something under his breath that sounded an awful lot like _I wish_ and shook his head. "My coworkers like to remind me of a particular incident… A marine broke my nose in a fistfight. I was pretty out of it when they took me to the hospital, and they gave me painkillers while I couldn't object. Apparently, I danced around the Bullpe- the office at NCIS singing _Cell Block Tango _before attempting to have a very serious conversation with my boss about toenails."

She regarded him blankly for a moment, and then, before she could help it, bust out laughing. "Okay," she managed between chuckles, "no painkillers, but you should rest if you can. It is a while you need to be alert."

He tried to take her advice as they pulled out of the Mossad compound and onto the busy Tel Aviv street, however, he soon discovered that Ziva drove like a New York cabbie on meth. "Are you crazy?" he asked as she swerved dangerously between a food delivery truck and a SUV, and tried to hold onto his nonexistent lunch as she pulled into the wrong lane.

"No. Why do you ask?"

"You drive like a madwoman!"

"Oh," she mused, unperturbed, "It is the best way to avoid roadside bombs."

"We might die anyway at this rate," he growled, and she could nod hide her smirk.

Trying to distract his attention from their seemingly imminent demise, he turned on the radio. The irritating beat of a pop song filled the car- exactly what would be on any given contemporary music station in the U.S., with the exception of the words being in Hebrew. The base was obnoxiously bumpy, and the singer had a sugary-sweet voice that was universal in contemporary music. Fiddling with the dial, he went through traditional Arabic music, more Hebrew pop, and some heavy metal where the electric guitar sounded like it was being stabbed before finally finding something soothing, and familiar.

Her brow furrowed, and she slowed down for a moment as she turned her head fully to look at him. "You like this music?"

He pointed back at the road, trying to keep her focused. "I was raised a WASP. This is the music of my childhood."

Although she had no idea what being a WASP was, except for the obnoxious bugs that stung, she did not question it.

He leaned back in his seat, trying to get comfortable, and her driving smoothed out as the city gave way to desert highway. He drifted off to sleep to the monotonous passage of tan desert and soothing sounds of Richard Wagner's _Tristan and Isolde_.


End file.
